


An Awkward Cup of Tea

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 06:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16529579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Sometime in the middle of Season 3, Miss Sanderson invites Miss Williams for tea.  It seems that the sandwiches are nice, and there are other things to drink.Rosie may not be coping, but she has relationship advice for Dot.Two ladies chatting over tea.  How bad can it get?





	An Awkward Cup of Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> There was a discussion, in which Fire_Sign ranted (in a polite, ladylike way) that Dot and Hugh weren't a good match, or really ready to get married.
> 
> So, I wrote this.
> 
> I may have missed her point.
> 
> Thanks to Scruggzi for beta, and many good suggestions.

Mrs. Blunt rolled the tea cart into the dark and slightly old-fashioned parlor.  “Here you are, Miss.”

“Thank you.”  Miss Sanderson smiled.  “This is perfect. I’ll ring if we need anything.”  

The white-haired housekeeper left for what Dot assumed was the kitchen.

Dot immediately rose to her feet, ready to pour, but Miss Sanderson was waving her back.

“Sit down, Miss Williams!”  She chuckled softly. “I invited you, remember?” 

“Yes, Miss, you did.”  Dot felt heat rising in her face.  Sometimes, being treated as a grown up lady was awkward.  “With lemon, please. And thank you.”

“My pleasure.  I’m going to need to be Rosie, to you.”  She brought the teacup over to her guest.

“Of course, Rosie.”  Dot remembered Mrs. Andrews and her guests, back when she was still in service.  “Thank you. I’m Dot to my friends.”

Dot wished that she’d dressed just a little more smartly for the visit.  Last year’s tweed suit was the perfect color for her new pink blouse that she had just finished, but the cut of the skirt wasn’t exactly a la mode anymore.  Miss Sanderson’s dress was gray trimmed in pale gray. Dot knew that the style was current and the fit fia dress was the perfection of a high-end dressmaker.  

The two quietly drank tea, and ate dainty sandwiches.  

“Dot, I want to offer you some advice.”  Rosie leaned over to set her cup on the tea trolley.  “It’s unwanted, as advice often is, but I feel you might need some.”

“If it is kindly meant, I’ll try to listen.”  Dot’s forehead creased, like her mother told her never to do.

“Don’t marry a policeman.”  Rosie got to her feet, and poured herself a drink.  “Scotch?”

“No thank you.”   _ It is a bit early for that, surely? _

“I know Constable Collins is kind, and good looking, and seems like a good catch.”  The grey silk settled over her knees as she sat.

“He is!”  Dot smiled to herself.

“Very good looking, I can’t argue with that.  However, you need to hear the whole story about what to expect.”  Rosie tipped the glass and took a sip. “First, there is the hours.”

“Well, yes, the late shift, I know about that!”

“Not just the late shift.  The early shift --coming in when you want to sleep late, and the double shift, and the unexpected late shift when you took particular trouble with his favorite thing for dinner.”  Rosie looked at her, and raised the glass. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

Dot shook her head, and reached for another sandwich.

“You can plan to attend a party for weeks, and expect to arrive on your man’s arm, but the job always comes first.  He can’t let down his fellow officers.” 

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”  Rosie raised an eyebrow.

Dot didn’t know how to answer that.  

“The schedule isn’t the only bit.”  Rosie was looking in the bottom of her glass, but didn’t seem to be focusing.

“I know it is dangerous work, Rosie.”

“Do you know what it is like to wait for news, Dot?”  Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“Oh…”  Dot remembered being tied up in a cargo compartment with Cec and Bert, and wondering if Hugh was going to rescue them.  Which wasn’t the same thing at all.

“It’s not like war, mostly.  Just now and then.” Rosie emptied the glass, and seemed to be considering a refill.

“I’m sorry.”  Dot remembered the Inspector had served in the war.  

“Don’t apologize.  My mother married a policeman, so I sort of knew what I was getting into.  Mostly.” She shrugged elegantly. “Mum and Father always made a point not to have fights in front of my sister and I, so I never saw that bit.”

“Is that why you are divorced?”  Dot clapped a hand over her mouth.  “I’m so sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“It sort of is, Dot.”  Rosie shook her head sadly.  “Your Constable is going to do his best to end up like Inspector Robinson.  It’s going to eat him alive.”

The silence felt like it was eating her alive.  Rosie seemed so sad, and serious, and disappointed.  She had been engaged to marry Sidney Fletcher, who was now behind bars awaiting trial.  Hugh and Inspector Robinson had been part of that investigation.

“Sometimes,” said Rosie, leaning forward in the chair, “I wish I’d married an accountant, like my sister did.  He was never handsome, he’s gone to fat, but he dotes on their children, and he comes home on time unless the tram has broken down.”

“Is he a good husband?”  Dot had never been sure what that phrase actually meant.  It seemed to mean a man that mostly managed to bring home enough money to cover rent, and didn’t beat his wife.  

“You would have to ask Sophie.  I think she is happy enough.”

Dot tried to imagine Hugh being old and fat.  She wasn’t sure she knew many old men. There was Mr. Butler, and a whole bunch of priests.  Her father had been thin and sick, and she had been very young when he passed.  _ At the wake, everyone said he was a good husband _ .   “May I change my mind about that drink?”

Her hostess quickly returned with a glass, and exchanged it for Dot’s teacup.

“Dot, policemen are generally not nice, happy people.”  Rosie was straightening the tea things as if it were her job, which it wasn’t.   “They aren't generally called in until things have gone wrong, and they sometimes need to use violence to get things sorted out.  Which is strictly limited, in a legal sense, but there are lots of grey areas, and… oh, never mind.”

“Isn’t that what police are for?  To protect people.”

“Not actually my point, Dot.”  Rosie’s hands stilled on the top of the teapot.  “Young Collins will have disagreements with others about methods, limits, personalities.  He will want to talk it through with you, because he can’t complain to other cops about a cop, that’s disloyal.”

“What can I do?”   _ Do I need to support Hugh more?  Is this why he’s off in the bush? _

“Nothing, probably.  But you still need to listen.”  

“Will that help?”  

“I don’t know.  But you listen.”  

“Does he need to listen to me?”  asked Dot, wondering if this was a different version of the duties of a Catholic wife.

“Maybe, maybe not.”  Rosie held the silver sugar tongs and examined them as if she had never seen them before.

Dot felt like she was missing something important.   _ Should I offer sympathy?  Is there a question I should be asking?  Why didn’t I just stay home and read “Table Talk”? _

“Is everything alright?” _  Miss Fisher would just ask. _  “We’ve only met each other in passing at the station.   I was surprised to get a tea invitation. Is there something you need help with?

“I’m worried about you, Dot.  Marriage is a big step, and I don’t want you to wake up one day and decide it was all a terrible mistake.”  She sank down into the chair next to the tea cart.

“Isn’t it my mistake to make?” demanded Dot.

“Yes, it is.”  Rosie nodded. “I’ve been spending way too much time lately wondering what would have happened if I’d made different decisions.  What if I hadn’t married Jack, back before the war? What if I’d never met Sidney? What if I had paid a tiny bit more attention to his business dealings?”

“You can’t blame yourself for Mr. Fletcher, Rosie.  He was hiding things from a lot more people than just you.”

“Every time things die down in the papers, some reporter decides to track me down and ask my opinion.   The ‘woman’s angle’, or some such nonsense. I’m just too close to the scandal right now.” Rosie seemed to be sinking into the green velvet upholstery.

“Are you worried that Hugh is going to end up like Sidney Fletcher?”  Dot couldn’t keep the laugh out of her voice, and immediately felt terrible.

“That really doesn’t seem likely, now that you put it that way.”  Rosie’s lips twitched up for a moment, and her eyes crinkled, but she stayed slumped in the giant chair.

“Rosie, are you my friend?”   _ Is this what people mean by ‘friendly advice’? I don’t think I like it. _

“I’m sorry, dear child.  I must seem like a bitter old woman.”  Rosie clasped Dot’s hand, and ran her thumb over the engagement ring Hugh had given her.  “I’m your friend, whatever you decide.”

“But…”  _  Hugh is going to come back. _   “I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, about Hugh.”

“Marriage is going to be complicated.  There is what he needs, and what you need, and if there are children, what they need.”  Rosie was pointing at each of Dot’s fingers.  _  Is she drunk? _

“Is that why Hugh hasn’t come back from the fishing trip?”  Dot felt like she was stumbling around in the dark.  _ If Hugh were here, I could ask him. _

“I don’t know Collins that well.”  Rosie was still gripping her fingers.   “Policemen’s wives talk, policemen talk.  I know he missed out on a promotion, and that's the money part of taking care of you that he can’t do yet, at least, not like he wants to.”  

“He doesn’t need to, if I keep working for Miss Fisher!  I’ve been saving… You know, he never actually asked what she’s paying me.  He just assumed I was going to quit.” Dot took her hand back.

“You need to talk about that, Dot.  And you probably will quit if there are babies to take care of.”  She faced away and stood up slowly. 

“I didn’t think…”  said Dot, watching Rosie cross the room.

“Do think.”  Rosie stared out her front window.  “Do you love him enough? Can you be what he needs?”

“What?”  asked Dot.

“Never mind.  I’m a bitter, disappointed, old woman.   It seemed like I was going to a have a life after a divorce, but with my father and that weasel Sidney on trial, I guess I was wrong about that.”

“You aren’t old!”  Dot imagined her mother.  Mrs. Williams was old.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been talking too much.”  Rosie seemed to be trying to gather herself.  “Everything will work out for you, Dot. You will be lucky, and happy, and the two of you will have a beautiful life together.”  

Dot wondered how much her hostess had been drinking.   _ There was the first one, and when she went back, but what if Rosie had been drinking before she arrived? _

The awkward silence continued.  

“I need to be going,” offered Dot.  “Thank you so much for the tea and the advice.  I’ll take it all into consideration. The money and stuff.  Mrs. Blunt is a treasure, those sandwiches were delicious.”  _  Stop it Dot, you are blathering. _

Rosie stepped away from the front window.  “It was good of you to stop by. Let me help you with your things.”

Dot was relieved that Rosie was content with the social niceties of helping her guest with her wraps.  Her imagination was running wild with pictures of Hugh angry, Hugh sad in the middle of the night, dinner with Hugh, dinner without Hugh... Hugh gone fishing and never coming back.

She paused on the doorstep, buttoning her coat.  She felt the desire to be proper needed to win over her discomfort with her divorced, possibly inebriated  hostess.

Rosie stood in the doorway, gripping the frame.  “I mean it Dot. Call me if I can help.” Her father's house seemed to loom over her, bricks ready to fall.

Dot took a deep breath.   _ She means well. _

“Thank you Rosie.  I’ll think about it.  Everything.”


End file.
